Walking with Beasts
by Greenzaku
Summary: My captain is a beast. Not a beast as in a slavering,savage monster,but a beast among men,observing them with a mind that was alien but understanding,inscrutable yet compassionate.Komamura and Iba philosofic and 7th division road trips.
1. Walking with Beasts

_Remember, Man, as you pass by  
As you are now, so once was I  
As I am now, so you shall be  
Prepare for Death and follow me_

- Tombstone inscription

I wrote this fic in a flash of inspiration. There simply aren't enough Bleach fics out there with Sajin Komamura (you know, the anthropomorphic fox guy) and his lieutenant, even though there is incredible potential to develop their characters further. I'm fond of writing obscure stuff and so this piqued my interest, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This fic explores Komamura's personality and outlook from Tetsuzaemon Iba's POV and is rather introspective. I've tried to keep it fun or at least digestible though.

**Warnings:** No sex or violence, but rated K+ due to deep philosophical content that younger children may find harder to understand.

**Disclaimer:** Bleach belongs to Tite Kubo.

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The lone figure sits perched on a rocky outcrop. He says nothing; so the only sound I can hear is the endless wind as it whispers by the ancient boulders and stirs the dust at our feet. My captain has never been talkative, and today is no exception. After a few more minutes of meditation, Sajin Komamura removes his helmet and turns in my direction. 

"Iba, will you follow me?"

I nod wordlessly from where I sit at the base of the rock, and get up to accompany my captain. It took me several days to get used to even maintaining eye contact with him, back when I first became his lieutenant. Apart from his bipedal stance, not much of Komamura appears human; and it took me a long time to learn to look past the piercing golden stare and gleaming fangs to speak to the person within. Perhaps that was the reason he spent more time confiding with his old friend Tousen and had little to say to me. Looking back, I could hardly blame him for being distant towards a lieutenant who had trouble accepting him for who he was. After Tousen's betrayal, he often visited the grave of blind captain's unnamed friend and talked to Hisagi Shuuhei when he was also there; and the halls of our division grew more silent than ever.

But at some point, the silence must have become too much for even him to bear; and Komamura finally began to confide in me. First we talked about simple things, like what we liked to eat or do in our spare time. Then we shared our thoughts and personal experiences; and again, I needed time to understand how growing up as an outcast shaped Komamura into the _man_ he is now. But this time, he was more forgiving and tolerant. Finally we shared our philosophies, and he opened my mind to the world as it was seen through the eyes of a _beast_.

No matter how much he disguises himself amongst humans and shinigami, my captain is a _beast_. Not a beast as in a slavering, savage monster; but a beast among men, observing and partaking of their interactions and daily lives with a mind that was alien but understanding; and inscrutable yet compassionate. It shocked me to learn that in a rather perverse way, Komamura actually liked being an outcast despite being resentful of being treated as one. Having always taken my species (and that of my companions) for granted, it seemed very illogical; until he began to teach me otherwise.

He would summon me to meet him among the boulders that sat atop the hill in the centre of our division; huge monoliths that had been carved and eroded into strange, eldritch shapes by ancient winds. Often I would find him crouching on one of them, his clawed hands planted firmly in contact with the rock surface, and his eyes shut in meditation. Eventually I asked him why he always sat like that, and he said that it was how he used to practice magic when he was alive in the human world – by talking to the stones. I found his explanation confusing since kidou does not work that way, but he only shrugged and said something along the lines of 'old habits die hard'. We left it at that.

Finally, he would check that I had brought my zanpakutou with me and we would depart for the human world; just the two of us, to perform soul burials. I used to wonder why he never travelled with any of our squads on these trips and I soon learnt the reason. The places we would go were far removed from the usual shinigami haunts; where few humans lived and fewer still died. Sajin Komamura walked a path that few could hope to follow, and I was honoured to be considered worthy of the task.

Today we shall visit the human world again, and I wonder where he will take me this time. But first we must retrieve Komamura's motorcycle.

Yes, you heard me right... Komamura has a motorcycle. By his own frank admission, he is the bulkiest _and_ slowest captain in the Gotei 13, having never flash-stepped in his life. The vehicle compensates for this to a large extent; and the seat is large enough for me to ride pillion. We go to the large shed on the other side of the hill and open the door, revealing the amazing contraption within.

Sunlight gleams off the chromed, backswept handlebars and sleek, bronze-and-azure casing of an honest-to-goodness, custom-built Roadog XII. The vehicle is five metres long, with a front suspension fork taking up nearly two metres of the length. The rear suspension is equally robust. The titanium-alloy frame is largely encased, and a full fairing protects its gargantuan rider from the effects of wind and rain. Despite its enormous bulk, the Roadog is a mere sixteen hundred pounds in weight and surprisingly agile. It has no engine or fuel tank. Fuelled by Komamura's own enormous reiatsu, the sturdy bike was made to be ridden by a beast, like a beast.

Saddlebags large enough to contain a grown man hang from either side of the rear wheel. My captain opens one of them and places his usual ceramic helmet inside, and instead pulls out a safety helmet; again custom-built to fit over his huge snout. He hands me my own helmet – an ordinary one by human standards. He takes off his captain's cloak and folds it, placing it in the other saddlebag to keep it clean. Reaching into the bag, he takes out a close-fitting white leather vest emblazoned with the number '7' on its back and dons it over his kimono instead. We clamber on and the Roadog erupts from its shelter at a hundred kilometres per hour; in almost total silence.

I cling to and press myself tightly against my captain's waist, trusting his control over the Roadog completely. Any shame I would otherwise feel about doing so is overshadowed by the knowledge that _I_ am the only shinigami apart from Komamura himself who has ever ridden the giant machine as it tore down alleyways and jumped over prettily-manicured Zen gardens; to the surprise and envy of my friends. The first time we passed him, I even risked releasing one arm to wave at Ikkaku Madarame and had the pleasure of watching his stupefied expression as the Roadog sailed through the air about fifteen feet above him.

Now my captain lets out a howl of exhilaration as we accelerate up a ramp and become airborne. At the peak of our trajectory, we enter the portal and the human world that lies ahead.

Invisible to the human eye, we can gleefully flout most traffic laws; leaping across the roofs of buildings and darting between human vehicles travelling in the opposite direction. Despite the speed at which we travel, our destination is often remote and the trip can take hours. I will therefore use the time to tell you about trips we have made in the past; when Sajin Komamura took my hand and led me to walk with him; down the path of the Beast.

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**A/N:** The Roadog is a real vehicle…you can look it up on Wikipedia; and the only thing that I can imagine will comfortably take Komamura's bulk. The Roadog in the story is a clearly a fictional and highly improved version though; since the last real Roadog prototype (the Roadog II) hasn't seen action since the 1970s.;) I don't have much familiarity with motorcycles and any technical details in the story are the product of impromptu online research, so please forgive any really awful errors…or contact me with suggestions on how to make it better. :) 


	2. The Last Dance

I still vividly remember our first trip. We emerged in a land covered with thick forest, on a dirt road that stretched into the distant horizon. It was hot and muggy. The air was heavy with humidity and the cries of jungle insects. Komamura drove on for at least another couple of hours, the wheels of the Roadog churning up clouds of brown dust, until we came upon what appeared to be a rural market.

Oblivious to our presence, many darker-skinned humans were shopping for or selling a wide assortment of fruits, vegetables, fish and other items. The vendors displayed their wares on woven mats on the ground. Stacks of bananas, pineapples and unidentifiable tropical fruit were arranged amongst dried fish, tethered goats and caged chickens. The shrill voices of bargaining customers and the welcoming shouts of the sellers filled the air, though I could not understand their language. Clearly, we were not in Japan.

Komamura parked the Roadog amongst the trees on one side of the road, took off his helmet, and bid me to follow him. He led me past the most of the food sellers and towards one particular vendor who sat behind an assortment of wild yams and tubers. The man wore a faded tunic and seemed to be in his fifties. He looked a little more weather-beaten than the others but otherwise did not seem to stand out; and was very much alive. I gave my captain a quizzical look.

He ignored me and walked in front of the vendor. I bent closer to examine him; and nearly fell backwards in alarm when he looked up and directly at me. His gaze was focused, and it followed my movements. This human must obviously have been one of the few that were able to see shinigami. Komamura spoke something to him in his language and seemed to ask a question, to which he nodded in answer; with a solemn look in his eyes. They conversed a little more before the man got up and started placing his wares into a large basket. Once he finished, he rolled up his mat and slung both items over his shoulders before walking off into the forest, with us following behind him.

I do not remember how long we walked, only that the man stopped once and removed his tunic. Underneath the garment, tattoos covered his skin and he wore a loincloth. My captain explained that he belonged to a tiny clan that lived deep in the forest, and he was one of the few that ventured out to sell goods to the outside world. The clan was nomadic and only by following him could we find its current location; and the spirit we needed to perform a Soul Burial for.

Before sunrise the next day, their tribal priest would be dead.

We walked for ages amongst ancient moss-covered trees, and I began to perspire. With my captain's permission I removed my kimono to keep cool. I could hear Komamura panting too; and eventually he also removed his clothes, exposing his furred, muscular torso. Often the vendor would have conversations with my captain, and the pair chatted like acquaintances. By the time we reached our destination, the sun was low in the sky and the trees cast deep shadows on our path. Finally we spied the glow of the tribe's cooking fire ahead of us and stepped gratefully into the clearing.

I have faced many ruthless hollows, bount and arrancar in battle without fear, but the initial experience of walking amongst these humans was terrifying, to put it mildly. _Every single one of them_ turned to look at me and my captain as we approached, pausing in their daily activities to watch as we passed their huts. The air around them seemed to hum slightly with traces of a foreign reiatsu. The vendor we met earlier led us to a hut situated a short distance from all the rest. He stopped several metres away and waved us in its direction, indicating that he would not follow us any further. Thanking him, Komamura placed a hairy palm on my shoulder and led me inside.

The dim interior of the hut was covered with a wide variety of strange objects that were the ritual tools of a tribal healer and magician. Jars of medicinal herbs stood in a corner and the bones and skulls of small animals hung from the ceiling. The reiatsu was thicker here; and its source sat cross-legged on the floor, her eyes shut in meditation.

The woman was old; old enough for her hair to have naturally turned as white as Ukitake-taichou's. She was clad only from the waist down, apart from the beaded jewellery that she wore. As we entered, she opened her toothless mouth and smiled in greeting. Through all this, I realised that not a single person had reacted to my captain's inhuman appearance since our arrival. My captain crouched to sit before her, and I did the same. And they talked.

To a human from the outside world, she would have appeared to have been in a trance as she conversed to an invisible presence in the room. But her eyes were bright and alert; and shone with the accumulated wisdom of many generations; though her frail chest heaved with the effort of maintaining the conversation. Whenever she paused to rest, Komamura translated and explained things for me.

She was the last sorcerer of her dwindling tribe. The younger men and women had already departed to join the mysterious world outside their secluded forest; and left only the elders behind. The tribe could not bear any more children, and there was no one left to whom she could pass the torch. The people from the outside world looked upon her tribe as frightening and superstitious folk who believed in strange spirits and monsters; and no one was interested in what she had to teach. The forest itself was shrinking as humans from the outside cleared the land for buildings, roads, plantations and mines. She expressed regret that with her passing, the medicinal lore and ritual knowledge handed down through many generations of mystics would disappear forever. And that it would happen soon, very soon.

"Iba, she also believes that when a person dies, an animal-spirit comes to take them to the afterlife." I had never, ever seen my captain look so sad and wistful before. "I've come for her."

As darkness descended, torches were lit outside. After a few more words of conversation, the woman reached into a basket behind her and retrieved the partial skin of some sort of wild animal, probably a deer, and placed it around her shoulders. Komamura held out his hand. She placed her own hand within his grasp, and he held on firmly and supported her as she struggled to her feet. Together they walked out of the hut and to the campfire.

Outside, the assembled forest-folk again stopped to behold our presence. With a heavy heart, I noticed that everyone present was old. No children laughed and played among the huts, and no young lovers sat beside each other in the shelter of the trees. The animal-spirit that was my captain began to sway on his feet as he held the magician's hands in his, and to my astonishment, she began to dance as well. Someone yelled and a drum and a few wooden rattles were brought out and played, to give rhythm to their priestess's last dance. A rattle was handed to me. Too fascinated to feel awkward about the situation, I joined in.

At first their dance was slow. The woman looked so small, so fragile next to my captain as she shuffled slowly from side to side. Komamura followed her pace, and together they danced as the stars came out. She started to dance a little faster, and my captain increased his own tempo, echoing her movements. I was certain she knew that the exertion was starting to take its toll on her, hastening her death, but she didn't mind. Their dance was unreal and beautiful; the monstrous bulk of Komamura keeping in step with the small, frail woman as they spun and twirled around the fire. The musicians and I played faster.

At the height of their dance they were leaping and whirling. Now my captain was the slower one, and I watched with astonishment as the old woman swayed and twisted with a practised and fluid grace. The constant drumming seemed to work the audience into a trance, myself included; and we barely noticed as the body of the magician finally fell dead to the floor. But her spirit kept dancing and Komamura still danced with her, now daring to lift and swing her so she could be airborne every now and again. And as her spirit danced, her hair darkened and the wrinkles faded from her skin; until we beheld a young woman in her prime, still dancing before us. Finally she pulled herself into my captain's embrace and he held her close as he performed konso.

When the drumming finally stopped, all that was left was my captain standing by the fire with the body of the priestess. The reiatsu was fading as he passed on her last words to the people gathered around with an almost business-like attitude. She wanted them to remember all that she had taught them, and that she would not be upset if they chose to assimilate with the outside world once bereft of their spiritual leader. And lastly, she would return for each of them; when the time came for them to be led into the Afterlife.

Once the last of the humans retired to bed, Komamura picked up the body of the woman and abruptly began walking off into the forest. He did not speak to me, but I followed at a respectful distance. When he stopped to lay the body to rest among the roots of a tree, I could tears glistening on his face. He mourned not the woman's passing but the death of the wisdom that she stood for in this world. The scene was uncannily similar to the one on the night following Tousen's departure. As the crickets sang under the starlit sky, Sajin Komamura sat down, threw back his head and howled.

* * *

**A/N:** I've refrained from using direct references to any specific real life indigenous peoples, in order to avoid possibly misrepresenting or offending them. 


	3. Over for Lunch

We left the following morning. The humans were moving on as well, but the sorceress's tent and its contents would be left behind. I begged my captain to let me take samples of the herbs back to Soul Society. Unohana-taichou could study and find some use for them, I hoped.

So much was being wasted. There was no guarantee that the woman would continue to teach her art once she reached Soul Society. Komamura seemed resigned to it; but I simply could not leave it be. The events of the previous night, and the memory, were already fading like a dream. I had to take something back with me so that I would not ever forget. My captain simply shrugged when I found the woman's walking-staff. It was made of wood and worn from years of use. Feathers, coloured stones and the skull of a catlike animal were tied to its shaft. I carried it as we followed the yam-seller all the way back to where we parked the Roadog. I tried to say goodbye to him at the market, but he ignored me. Suddenly I realised that with the old woman gone, the influence her spiritual presence had on her companions diminished. As he walked further away from the last vestiges of her power, he lost the ability to see spirits.

When we returned to Sereitei, I went directly to the 4th division and handed the herbs to Unohana-taichou. I showed the staff to my friends the next time we met up for a drink, and we tried to see if it was magical. Not much luck there. Eventually the others gave up but I still carried it with me sometimes. It helped me to focus when using kidou, though it might just have been wishful thinking.

Over the following weeks I came to understand my captain even more. We went on many outings together. I learnt that Komamura-taichou specialised in seeking out spirits from minority groups, especially tribal cultures, for soul burials. He came for the people who were misunderstood, lost or outcast. The desert hermits and homeless eccentrics were also his charges. Even in urban areas, he would keep a lookout for the lonely spirits of sexual and racial minorities, the mentally ill, lone immigrants and anyone that the rest of society felt uncomfortable with. It didn't matter if they simply behaved unusually or if they were really threatening. Komamura had a heart big enough for all of them. Being a doglike anthropomorphic monster seemed to help as these people understood Komamura to be someone whose very nature was as different as they were; and they were friendly and receptive towards him. Most importantly, he taught me that while it was a kindness to treat these souls with respect, it was also important to understand them; or at least empathize with the feelings of those who chose or were forced to walk a different path.

Of all people, he would know how lonely that path could be. Komamura didn't just accept that he was a monster. He made use of the fact as well. But for a long time, I didn't know _just_ how monstrous my captain could be.

I remember that morning I was hauled out of bed by my captain himself. The previous evening, Renji had procured, or possibly stolen, a great quantity of a non-Japanese substance called 'vodka' for a drinking game; and I was feeling the after-effects of the experiment. After scrambling to get my items onto the Roadog, we set off for the human world once again.

I nursed the headache for most of the morning as we rode from desert town to dusty desert town, visiting hospitals and cemeteries and combing the alleyways for spirits. It was tiresome and monotonous. Even Komamura-taichou was bored and tried to enliven the experience by doing motorcycle stunts off rock formations and abandoned buildings between the settlements. As the sun rose higher and the Roadog's sheen gradually got covered with dust, I began to feel I needed a break. Finally, after searching through seven tiny hamlets and finding just five spirits between them, I suggested that we stop for lunch.

To my surprise, my captain wholeheartedly agreed. He told me to fetch our bento boxes from the saddlebags as he spread a mat on the ground. I went to the Roadog and realised with horror that due to my hangover and my haste to set off that morning, I had forgotten to bring lunch. Nothing but two forlorn flasks of water greeted me when I opened the bags. Dejectedly I brought them to Komamura-taichou; who growled and grumbled his displeasure for hours afterward. Dinner wouldn't be served back at our division until at least five hours later.

As he drove through the dry, sandy landscape, I must have nodded off in tiredness; for I remember waking up as Komamura brought the motorcycle to a halt. "What is it, captain?" I asked. He was sniffing the air. Then a slight grin creased the edges of his jaws.

"Lunch."

We moved the Roadog to a sheltered spot under a rocky ledge to keep it cool enough to sit on afterward. My captain led me around a small hill by the side of the dirt path. In front of us was a large and circular tent made of heavy cloth. It was white and stood out brightly against the brown sand of the desert. The flaps were sealed, but Komamura simply phased through the nearest wall and I followed. And stared.

The interior of the tent was divided into two equal halves by a curtain that stretched across its diameter. The half that we entered held a large table and chair. The table was _covered_ with food and snacks. Juicy fruit, bowls of rice, sweet crackers, baked pastries and braised vegetables sat beside cutlery and sauces. Behind were bottles containing drinks. But the item displayed most prominently on the table was an entire side of mutton; fat, juicy and roasted to perfection and flavoured with exotic spices…

"I'm glad you like the meal."

I spun around. The spirit of a young man who was slightly younger than myself was standing behind me. He was muscular and ruddy-faced, and reminded me somewhat of Renji. His soul chain trailed into the other half of the tent, and he was grinning at myself and Komamura.

"I died yesterday afternoon. You must be death-messengers, yes? The food is for you, once you've sent me into the Next Life. My sisters spent a long time preparing all that," his voice lowered in sadness, "I'll miss them."

My captain softly murmured his thanks. You see, he doesn't talk loudly when he is salivating. He doesn't have lips; and if he didn't keep his mouth closed, the drool would slobber out. But he did a reasonable job of hiding the fact from this spirit. He reached out a clawed hand to firmly tear my attention away from the feast and we went into the other section.

On a low platform lay the man's body, covered with a thick, woven mat. The soul chain remained attached to it. Despite the morbid presence of his own corpse, the spirit seemed cheerful and talkative. He informed us that he was a shepherd who came from one of the remote villages in the area. The previous morning, one of his sheep fell down a ravine and he tried to climb down after it. He slipped and fell in as well. The sheep survived, but he did not. By the time his family found him, he was dead. They managed to get the animal back. He shrugged and gave us a wry smile as he gestured towards the food table. Said sheep was now the main course - so much for his rescue attempt.

The sheep's spirit was also present, chained not to its body but to that of its master. As he chatted amiably, the simple-minded creature followed him around the room, and I had to admit that it was rather touching to watch. The man's spirit continued to chat with us; and his curiosity about death and the afterlife was eager and overwhelming. Since he was so open and friendly, we explained the concept of soul burial to him and what it involved.

"Well, since my sheep is here, can I see how it's done?" he asked.

Komamura politely replied that it wouldn't be any trouble and casually asked me to demonstrate. I complied. There I was, a high-ranking Gotei 13 officer, having to perform konso for a bloody sheep. But it needed to be done. Hollow sheep, anyone? The shepherd gently lifted the heavy creature into his arms, where it settled calmly and did not struggle as I touched the hilt of my zanpakutou to its forehead. Fascinated, he watched until all trace of the animal had vanished.

But he wanted to ask more questions before his turn. Who were we? Where did we come from? Was he going to go to Heaven? Did sheep go to Heaven? Why did Komamura look like a dog? Were there others like us? The questions were endless and I was becoming impatient. Normally, most shinigami would spend a little time consoling unhappy spirits before sending them to Soul Society, and this was rather excessive in comparison. Then my captain long-sufferingly suggested that I go to the other room and eat my fill while he answered the spirit. He would join me later.

They were talking about the shinigami court divisions and his chances of joining the academy when I sat down to eat. Komamura had an appetite in proportion to his size, but there would be enough left for him by the time I was finished. It was nice to feel appreciated for once, even if I had to put up with his constant yakking if and when he somehow found his way into our division. Komamura spoke softly and I could not hear him clearly from where I sat. The food was delicious, especially the mutton. Eventually I stopped trying to eavesdrop and concentrated on stuffing myself. After a while, I opened one of the bottles and found that it contained some sort of unidentifiable alcoholic beverage; and I drank some of that too.

I had been sitting there for more than half an hour when I decided to check on Komamura and the spirit. I didn't want to raise my voice to call him in case I interrupted their conversation. As I walked into the room, I first noticed that the spirit had already departed and my captain was crouching near the body. I looked at the shape of the body under the mat and realised that it had changed slightly.

_One leg was now smaller than the other_.

In that split second of horror, Komamura rose and immediately stood between me and the corpse, blocking my vision.

"Iba, I…"

I didn't wait for him to finish. I spun around and fled in terror, flash-stepping out of the tent. My captain was a cannibal; and now that I knew his secret, my own life was in danger. I ran to the Roadog and leapt astride it. If I managed to flee on the enormous vehicle, my captain stood no chance of catching up. There was no way I could best him in a fight and the only person who could protect me was General Yamamoto himself.

I pumped my reiatsu madly into the bike and gripped the handlebars for dear life as it exploded out from under the overhang. The steering fork was made for the brute strength of someone three times my size however; and as I turned the bike to follow the path, I lost control of it and it ploughed across the path and into a scree-pile of rocks on the other side. I was thrown out of the seat, and the world faded to black.

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**A/N:** Sorry for the slight delay in posting...I was away due to a slight injury. The next and last chapter is coming up. BTW, animals in Bleach have souls, at least according to one filler episode with a hollow dog and the presence of dogs, pigs, fish, insects and birds in Soul Society. 


	4. Counting Sheep

I reiterate: you must never, ever, EVER ride a motorcycle without a helmet. My first memories of waking up are hazy and confused. A blur of black moving shapes, the sensation of being lifted and carried, the sight of blood smeared everywhere and the taste of dust in my mouth were the first things I awoke to. I didn't remember at first how I came to be in that condition, only that I was surprised to see my captain…for some reason. Gradually as lucidity returned, I recognised the backpacks of the 4th division shinigami tending to my wounds. But increasing alertness also brought with it incredible agony; and I couldn't speak or move. I looked at Komamura and he looked back at me before barking an order to one of the medics. I felt the prick of a needle and slipped back into comfortable oblivion.

The second time I awoke, I was in the 4th division's infirmary. A stringy-looking young medic was sitting beside me. I tried to speak to him, but could only groan. He leapt up and began trying to explain things.

"U-uh, 4th Division 7th Seat Yamada Hanatarou…please don't exert yourself, lieutenant…you've got multiple fractures and severe abrasions from the crash. Komamura-taichou killed all the hollows chasing you. You're safe now and…"

Hollows? A crash? What happened? Then the memories returned and I looked about in alarm. Before Hanatarou could continue, my captain's deep voice interrupted.

"Thank you Yamada-san, for looking after my lieutenant. I'd like to have a word with him in private. Why don't you go and tell his friends that he's woken up?"

"Hai, taichou." The medic bowed and scampered out of the room. Once the flip-flop of his sandals died away in the distance, my captain took his place. I could not bear to look at him directly. Despite knowing what I'd seen, he still risked bringing me back. He had to lie of course, about the cause of the accident. He regarded me gravely, before muttering under his breath, "I'm sorry." As if sensing my discomfort, he filled a glass with some water from a pitcher so that I could drink. And suddenly, I felt awful.

The man was dead. He'd gone to Soul Society. He didn't need his mortal body anymore. He was human, Komamura wasn't. Strictly speaking, it wasn't cannibalism. But then I panicked stupidly and crashed the Roadog – the only means for the lumbering Komamura to reach the lost spirits that needed him. I was an idiot.

"Taichou…please forgive me…"

"I wanted to say that I'd gotten his permission first. His clan places the bodies of the dead where _animals_ will find and eat them, by the way."

"The Roadog…"

"…is in better shape than you are. Headlights and side mirrors are easily replaced. Lieutenants are not."

_Dumb lieutenants_, I mentally corrected. "I won't tell," I said weakly.

"You did not need to see it. Thank you…" And that was all.

He was cut short by an urgent knock on the door. Ikkaku, Renji and Izuru were eager to check on me and he let them enter. Over the course of my long and painful recovery, Komamura would come in occasionally to enquire about my progress. I had several weeks to ponder the nature of my captain. He still took me out on trips afterward, but he spoke less to me, as if he didn't want to risk frightening me again. The assignments were the same, but he conducted the soul burials with quiet dignity and none of the savage passion that I had seen previously. He said little and wore his heavy mask constantly in Sereitei. It was as if the Komamura that I had known had hidden himself beneath a façade of polite etiquette and 'human' composure that was at the same time completely unnatural to behold. So that he could blend in. So that his division would accept him. So that he wouldn't scare the humans.

Sometimes I would get a brief glimpse of his eyes through the slit of his mask. They were brilliant, monstrous and golden still; but his gaze reminded me of a caged wolf in a human zoo; confined for the safety and comfort of the masses.

And that is when it dawned upon me. Listen closely, human…I hope you understand.

Humans are sheep. Not in the sense of being dumb, mindless creatures that blindly follow each other to the slaughter (though plenty of those types certainly exist), but in the sense that they are our charges and responsibility; the whole bloody flock of them. And just like the four-legged creatures that they care for, they are targeted by merciless and ravening predators – the hollows that we shinigami fight and kill and get killed by so that they can live their lives in ignorant, blissful peace. Yet this peace is all too often taken for granted and the herd all-too-often abandons and persecutes the individuals among them that appear different in some barely discernible way.

We search for the stray sheep, and bring them back. But unlike an actual, bleating lump of wool and mutton, humans have wills and believe in self-determination. The lost members of the flock will only trust a shepherd who can think like them and knows how it feels to be truly alone. Komamura takes this to an extreme. He revels in being a monster, the ultimate pariah, so that he would truly understand the suffering of even the most wretched outcasts. So that they would follow him _home_.

He doesn't even eat our humans. Hell, even human shepherds eat their sheep sometimes. Komamura's secret diet preference only includes the abandoned shells of the human-sheep who have moved on to the proverbial meadow-in-the-sky. It's like harvesting clumps of wool stuck to a pasture fence when compared to the Earth livestock industry. A monstrous path indeed. _Yeah, effing right_. General Yamamoto chose his captain well.

Once I let Komamura know that I understood, it seemed like a huge burden was lifted off his shoulders. He took off both the physical and metaphorical mask; and he…uh, _we_ dined on a freshly-slain calf that was sacrificed to spirits as part of some human funeral ceremony. We ate it raw, marking our arms and faces with blood as we howled, shouted and rejoiced in both human diversity and the thrill of all things feral and fearful and wondrous still left in the world.

I don't expect other shinigami to understand this at all. I don't think the wild-eyed Ikkaku Madarame, or even the eccentric Abarai Renji should ever find out. This is our secret, one that the soutaichou himself must never know. Inside Sereitei, we walk close to each other, our faces impassive; keeping a civilised and dignified countenance for the comfort of others around us. Once we are alone in the human world, my captain has at least one other _monster_ who can accompany him wherever he chooses to roam. Free.

* * *

One last mystery remained. I finally gathered the courage to ask Komamura how he came to look the way he does. Souls arrive in Soul Society as the same species they were on Earth; and to my knowledge, dog-people are completely mythical. 

How wrong I was. Komamura showed me the old human historical records of the Neuri, cynocephali and werewolves; the legends of ancient animal-headed deities and monsters. These legends were _real_. Once upon a time, there had been more like him living amongst the earthly flock. But they had never been numerous; and eventually died out in obscurity. Most became hollows and evil spirits, for very few shinigami were willing to come for them; and many still remain that way – a perverse transformation of lost sheep into hungry wolves. Those that came to Soul Society finally died again and were reborn as ordinary humans with no memory of their savage past. All except for one named Sajin Komamura.

My captain has one fear, and that is the total extinction of his species and its memory. Komamura holds on to the fervent hope that he will eventually discover another of his kind. He isn't a young shinigami anymore, though he still has at least a millennium ahead of him in Soul Society if he doesn't fall in battle first. Barring the lucky discovery of a compatible mate in Rukongai, he plans to discover and awaken the sleeping beasts that lie dormant in the souls of certain special humans; in the fervent hope that he will rediscover a member of his kind from ages past reborn within a human shell. Maybe, just maybe, before they die they will realise who they were; and arrive in Soul Society as monsters again. Until then, they walk a lonely path.

My captain believes that he will find these special humans among the outcasts of the world. This is the other reason he searches for their spirits. He says that many such people may even be half-aware of their true heritage, and become outcast as they try to live in accordance with it. The old woman we met in the jungle put on a deerskin for her final dance despite the tropical heat. Was there now a fair maiden in Rukongai, dancing on cloven hooves?

Returning to the present, we have arrived at the home of a city-dwelling human family. It's late at night, and I ask my captain if some old person has died in his sleep. Komamura replies that we would not be performing any soul burials here. There was something else he wanted to show me. He quietly takes me through the wall and into a room where a young woman lies sleeping in her bed. Around her room are various animal-themed toys and decorations. A poster of a werewolf that bears a striking resemblance to my captain hangs on her wall, and she clutches a plushie leopard to her chest. A shelf of books nearby contains fascinating tales of shapeshifters and dragons alongside back issues of _National Geographic_. On her computer desk, the statuette of a horse rears at a collection of seashells in a jar. But what distinguishes her room from that of the average animal lover is the presence of a particular hair ornament on her bedside table. It's a curved plastic band with fluffy, cloth cat ears on it; and when worn they make the user look like a humanoid cat. I can't resist trying them on, earning a silent groan from my captain; who rolls his eyes.

I replace the cat ears on the table and ask him if she is one of his kind; one of us. He says maybe; the only way to tell for certain is when she is dead. He plans to come for her when the day arrives. Until then, we can only hope that she awakens…if in fact that is what she is.

We return to the Roadog parked on the roof, and Komamura asks if I am ready to go. Then I suddenly get an idea. I pull open one of the saddlebags and retrieve an item that I had forgotten about months ago; the walking stick of the old deer-woman with the feline skull on it, and return to the girl's bedroom.

Shinigami like me have hundreds, if not thousands of years to learn the things that are truly important in life. Some of us never do. I walk to where you lie asleep, wondering if you have enough human years ahead of you to learn who you truly are. It doesn't matter even if you aren't what Komamura hopes you may be, as long as you keep the memory of the Beast alive. Remain true to yourself, whoever or whatever you are; even if it turns you into an outcast. And as a gift I place the staff with its feathered skull on your desk; so you can puzzle over the circumstances of its arrival when you wake up.

My captain has never been talkative, and when he comes for you it will be no exception. When he turns to you, will you follow him?

* * *

**A/N**: The Neuri and Cynocephali are races of people once believed to exist through the writings of Herodotus and early Christian records respectively. The former are a savage tribe thought to turn into wolves once a year, while the latter are dog-headed humans. Both are considered cannibalistic. 

I would also like to thank dartigen, A.J Starhiker and cathrl of the Writers Anonymous forum for the help in describing a motorcycle crash.

This fic took a lot out of me to write...it is rather different I guess. The 7th division's characters haven't been well-fleshed out in canon, so I had to create something attractive yet plausible. I got inspired by the fact that in Soul Society, Komamura and Iba look so...normal...even with the captain's helmet off, that there _just_ had to be something else going on. Let me know what you think!


End file.
